


You Can Be My White Knight

by vixalicious



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixalicious/pseuds/vixalicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam comes down with the 'flu on tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Be My White Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: So completely on the not true side that it's almost worked it's way back around. Or, er. Something. They're most likely not doing it, y'all. If you got here by googling yourself, hit the back button, this is not for you.
> 
> Notes: Title from Katie Herzig's Forevermore. A big thank you to torakowalski for the Britpick; all further mistakes are all on me. This is all harriet_vane’s fault; like, a month ago I didn’t even know who these people were!
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT: repost this story anywhere (links are fine, recs are fantastic, reposting is bad), mention it on any non-fandom site such as (but not limited to) Goodreads, or read/share any excerpt from it in any public forum (radio, television, convention, etc) without the express written permission from the author. Thank you!

Liam comes off the stage sweaty and exhilarated, just like every night.    
  
Someone hands him a towel, and he’s halfway through wiping his face when he realizes that he didn’t say thank you.  Frowning, he looks up, but whoever it was, they’ve gone now.  He hates it when he’s accidentally rude, and just like that, the performance adrenaline wears right off. They’re half-way through their first American tour, and he’s not complaining about his life by any means, but the constant pack- up-and-go means that he’s just.  Completely knackered.  
  
“You off to the gym later?”  Niall asks as they all pile into the van to head back to the hotel.  
  
Liam nods out of habit, and then thinks about the bed, real hotel bed with stretching out-capacity and clean, non-bandmate scented sheets, and changes tack.  “You know, actually, no.  Think I’ll crash instead.”  
  
“Of course you are,” Zayn laughs as he squishes in next to them.  “We won’t wake up tomorrow to find that you’ve spent half the night twitcamming with the fans.  That would never happen, Liam ‘Up All Night’ Payne.”  
  
Liam just laughs.  “I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor, sir.”  
  
He’s in bed and asleep ten minutes after they get back to the hotel.  
  
When the alarm on his mobile goes off the next morning, he’s a tangled mess in the duvet, sweaty and clammy, and he feels like hell.  He hits snooze three times before he finds the energy to get out of bed.  He takes a shower in the hopes that being clean will somehow miraculously cure him, but washing his hair tires him out so much that he has to lie down again after he gets out.  Gathering up every piece of his stuff feels like a Herculean task, and by the time he’s all packed and headed downstairs, he really wants a nap.  It shouldn’t be possible to be this tired at half eleven.  
  
The lift dings and he forces his eyes open.  The first thing he sees is Niall and Harry rolling around on the white marble floor of the lobby.  Judging by the color in Niall’s cheeks and Harry’s sheer glee (and the chocolate bar he’s protecting like it’s the Holy Grail,) Harry’s nicked Niall’s food again.  Louis is laughing loudly at them while he pelts them with Skittles and judges them on wrestling form, and Zayn’s being zero help, ignoring them in favor of arguing with someone on his mobile.  Liam would swear he can feel the waves of their combined noise as it echoes off the walls like sandpaper against his skin and, for just a second, he closes his eyes and wishes for a different life.  And maybe for his mum.    
  
He opens his eyes again, and they’re still... them.  And he loves them, he really does, but today he’d like to love them on mute.  
  
Louis looks up just then and grins when he catches sight of Liam.  He makes a big show of checking the non-existent watch on his wrist.  “Oh my god, Liam’s LATE.  Look everyone, it’s Late Liam.  Liam the Late.  Sir Liam of Lateham.”    
  
He reaches out, grabs the back of Zayn’s shirt and dumps the rest of the bag of Skittles down it.  He sprints away, shouting “Taste the rainbow... in Zayn’s pants!” as sweets start cascading out of the bottom of Zayn’s shirt.  Zayn just rolls his eyes and continues on with his call.    
  
“Save me, Liam,” Louis ducks behind him, wrapping his arms under Liam’s.  “Save me from... Zayn’s complete indifference to my utter specialness.”  
  
“Sad day, Tommo,” Liam mumbles.    
  
“No one appreciates my genius,” Louis moans, tucking his face against Liam’s neck.  He nuzzles him, and Liam leans back, because it feels really nice to let someone else be in charge of his general uprightness for a change.    
  
“Hey,” He can feel Louis frown against his neck.  “You’re really warm.  Have you got a fever?”  
  
“Mmmmn,” Liam feels too tired to really answer, and Louis’s skin feels so... cool.  It’s so easy just to keep leaning.  And maybe rubbing his neck back on Louis’s cool, cool skin for relief.  At the same time, he’s nearly shivering and the extra body heat  wrapped around him feels nice, too.  He closes his eyes again, and considers the possibility of sleeping standing up.  Then he hears a crash, and he sighs, knowing he should open his eyes and be the responsible one.  
  
“Oi, you wankers,” Louis somehow manages to make his voice serious without making it loud, and he is totally Liam’s favorite right now.  “Knock it off, Liam’s ill.”  
  
In the end, it’s the silence that follows that makes Liam finally open his eyes.  The other three have stopped dead, and are staring at them.  Niall’s the first to move.  “I’ll get Paul.”  
  
Harry starts cleaning up the mess they’ve made on the floor as Niall scarpers for Reception.  Or well, he starts pushing piles of Skittles under the furniture, but it’ll be enough to keep Paul from yelling when he gets here and today that’s good enough.  Idly, Liam wonders how long it will take housekeeping to notice, and if he should leave a note or something.  Maybe an anonymous phone call once they’re miles away.  He imagines himself using a fake accent, maybe German, ‘Haf you checked under ze chairs in ze lobbee lateleeeee’ and hanging up.  He giggles quietly to himself and Louis hugs him tighter.  Maybe he can get Louis to do it, it’d be funnier.  Louis is always funnier.    
  
Zayn slides his phone into his pocket, and rights the lamp they’ve tipped over before coming over to them.    
  
“Here, lemme get that for you,” And he disentangles the duffel bag slung over Liam’s shoulder gently.  
  
The next thing Liam knows, they’ve got him ensconced in the back lounge of the bus, wrapped into some sort of blanket burrito, tucked in and given foul tasting medicine at precise intervals.  Zayn sets the alarm on his mobile so they won’t miss the next dose.  The television is on low; they’ve put in the new Muppet film, and he’s sprawled across the couch with his head against Louis’s chest and his feet in Harry’s lap, with Niall and Zayn on the floor.    
  
He’s got one hand free from the blankets for drinking the orange juice that has been forced on him - and he hates orange juice, especially this kind with the pulp floating around in it like seaweed, but Harry can be quite stern when he puts his mind to it, and apparently orange juice has VITAMINS and other MAGICAL HEALING QUALITIES even if it tastes dreadful and Liam is unable to say no to Harry when he does his serious pout instead of his charming pout.  It’s a life issue.    
  
Niall occasionally hands him an apple slice from the buffet of healthy snacks that they’d made Paul detour to the shops to get, or tops up the dreaded OJ.  There’s even some chicken soup somewhere that’s for later when he feels like it.  
  
Louis pets his hair and does quiet Miss Piggy impersonations that make Zayn giggle face down into his folded arms, and then they all do the world’s softest sing-along to ‘Man or Muppet.’  Liam even manages the deep part, even though it makes his head ache just a bit.  Outside, parts of America he’s never seen before are passing by, but he can’t really make himself care enough to do more than glance out the window when he gets up to go to the toilet.  Which he actually has to make a case to let him go to by himself.    
  
“You might get dizzy and fall,” Louis protests as Liam fights his way out of the blankets.  “You’ve got a temperature.”  
  
“I will be fine.  I have been going to the loo on my own for many a year,” Liam counters.  He sets the orange juice glass down on the table, and Niall immediately reaches to refill it.  “Niall, stop it!  I can’t drink that much.”  
  
“You need vitamin C,” Harry starts in again.  
  
“And I also need not to make my kidney flip out,” Liam leans down and puts his hand over the top of the glass.  And okay, he sways a bit, but he’s fine,  really .  
  
“Yeah, I’m coming with you,” Louis says, and then glares at Harry when he starts giggling.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry says, not sounding sorry at all.  “Just a mental image, mate.  Of you  helping .”  
  
“No one is  helping ,” Liam decrees, horrified.  He can see Louis gearing up to argue the point, and he cuts him off at the pass because all the standing is making him tired again.  “It’s only ‘flu, not some weird fainting disease.  You can stand outside and if you hear a thump, then you can come in.  ONLY THEN.  And only if I don’t answer through the door.”  
  
Louis considers it for a second, scrunching up his face.  Then he nods.  “Fair enough.”  
  
Liam doesn’t even question it when Harry starts laughing harder and makes a whipping sound effect that has Niall giggling and Zayn hiding his face in the carpet.  Harry and Louis have so many in-jokes, he generally doesn’t even bother with asking any more.  The answers are usually more confusing than not knowing.  
  
“Whaaaa-pah,” he mouths under his breath, and Louis gives him a quizzical, slightly worried look.  “You know, Chandler.  On Friends.”  
  
Louis frowns for a second, then Liam would swear he looks relieved when he laughs. “Hah, right, I’d forgotten that!  Classic.”  
  
Harry actually falls off the sofa at that, and Liam frowns because maybe he should ask about this one, but Louis pushes him through the door into the hallway before he can.  The toilet’s just next door, and Liam walks in and has to push Louis back out into the hallway, because seriously, no.  
  
Louis keeps talking through the door, and then he starts keeping rhythm on it and singing a muffled version of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework.’  He bangs hard once after the first line of the chorus, and Liam realizes that that’s his cue to join in so he does, and by the time he’s dried his hands they’ve got a lovely duet going.  
  
When they get back in the room though, and he’s slipped back into his place with his covers and his Louis-shaped pillow, and Niall’s refilled his orange juice - “Just for when you want it, doesn’t have to be now,” - and Zayn’s restarted the paused DVD, he can admit that the trip took more out of him than it should have.  He nestles back down, and Louis pets his hair some more, and Harry hugs his knees and slides down a bit to lean on him, and it’s all so very comfortable.  
  
Liam waits to get annoyed by the whole thing, because generally when he’s ill he likes to be left alone, hates to be touched.  His own sainted mother once compared him to a bear with a sore head, and while he’s not quite sure what that means, he has inferred that he must be a bit grumpy when he is poorly.  So this, the constant touching, the well-meant but clumsy care, it  ought to be making him prickle and pull back.  But it doesn’t happen, and he drifts off to sleep with the thought that this is just another one of the barriers these boys have slipped under, without him even noticing.  
  
When he wakes up, the lounge is dark, the only light from the TV.  Something’s playing, but the sound is off and it’s an American programme he doesn’t recognize.  Niall and Zayn are gone, but Harry’s curled up with his head on Liam’s hip, fast asleep.  
  
“Back with us then?”  Louis’s voice is nearly at a whisper, but Liam can feel Louis’s chest rumble underneath his head.  
  
“Mostly,” Liam scrubs one hand over his face.  “What time is it?’  
  
Louis reaches for his phone with the hand that isn’t wrapped around Liam’s chest, holding him in place.  “Almost five.  We should be there soon.”  
  
Five.  They got on the bus around noon, and he hadn’t stayed awake through the end of the film, so he’s been sacked out on Louis for close to three hours.  He can’t remember seeing Louis sit still for a full hour in all the time he’s known him.  He starts to shift, to sit up, as he apologizes, “Sorry, mate, didn’t mean to-”  
  
“Don’t,” Louis pulls him back down, and Liam tilts his head back to look  at him.  “You’ll wake Harry.”  
  
“Oh.  Right,” Liam settles back down.  He’s pretty sure a full marching band could come in, and Harry wouldn’t wake up but he doesn’t argue the point.  “Where’d the others go?”  
  
“I kicked them out, they were getting loud,” Louis grins as Liam’s eyebrow raises.  “And yes, I do fully appreciate the irony of that statement.  Pot, kettle, black and all that.”  
  
Louis smiles down at him softly then, and Liam can’t help but smile back.   “Thanks, I needed the sleep.”  
  
“You alright, then?’  
  
Liam takes stock, and he’s still achy, has that hollowed out feeling from sleeping all day and it still not being enough.  He shrugs,  “I’ll make the show tomorrow.”   
  
Louis frowns down at him, smacks him lightly on the back of the head.  “S’not what I asked, now is it?  How are you feeling?”  
  
“Well, oddly enough, my head hurts because  someone just hit me , “ Liam grouses, and Louis chuckles, not repentant in the least. “But other than that, I’m mending well enough.  I think my fever’s gone. Or gone down at least.”  
  
Louis makes him take another dose of the vile ‘flu remedy, just in case, and then they turn the volume up on the TV just loud enough to hear.     
  
Liam can’t quite concentrate on the plot, though, and after a while, he gives up trying and surreptitiously watches Louis instead.  The flickering light from the TV casts shadows on Louis’s face, and hides his eyes.  It’s easy to forget sometimes, because Louis is always moving, always laughing, always pulling a face, but when he’s still, he’s just... lovely.    
  
From this angle, Liam can see how sharp the line of his jaw is, the stubble from taking a day off from shaving, the mess of bedhead which is somehow tamer than his usual carefully-styled swoop.  It’s intimate, it’s quiet, and they haven’t had a lot of that in any part of their lives lately, and for a moment Liam lets himself entertain a fantasy that he generally refuses to think about, to feel something for Louis that he knows he has no business feeling.  Then he closes his eyes, because thinking about how beautiful Louis looks is more than he can handle right now.  
  
“You still tired?”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam is, he really is, and he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t think he could, they’re made of lead and elephants and other really heavy things.    
  
“Go back to sleep then,” Louis whispers, and Liam feels the blanket being tucked in around him tighter.    
  
The sound on the TV cuts out, and Liam can feel sleep pulling him down into the blackness and it’s warm and comfortable so he turns toward it, turns toward Louis, and mumbles “Thanks for taking care of me today,” against the soft fabric of his shirt.  
  
“You're so very easy to care for,” The whispered response comes a beat late, when Liam  is halfway to falling asleep, and he would swear he feels Louis' lips brush softly against his temple.  
  
Tomorrow, he'll wonder if he just dreamed it, or if it was real.  


End file.
